En faisant le guet
by LesMisLoony
Summary: A MontparnasseEponine ficlet, but not what you usually see. After all, who says it's canon that Eponine was the one being used?


A/N- So, I've spent most of my day not doing homework and reading Monty/Éponine fanfic simultaneously, which is kind of like multi-tasking, and I became aware that a lot of the Monty/'Ponine oneshots are wretchedly similar, though often actually fantastic stuff, and they sort of run together in the head. I said to myself, "Kyle,"—I call myself Kyle—"is there anything you can do to turn this pairing upside down on its head?" And here is the result. (Kudos to anyone who followed my little shoutout, there… I actually call myself "idiot" or "loony" in my head, not Kyle, but, you know. Feeling goofy.) …Also, you should definitely go read my Monty/Cosette fic, because I worked much harder on that than I did this, and I'm quite proud of it.

X

"Hey, you, Montparnasse!"

He let out a long, slow sigh before arranging a smile across his face and turning. "Éponine."

"They don't need you up there, now do they?"

"Well, actually—" he began, stepping sideways to the old Gorbeau place, but she cut him off.

"No, they don't. Of course they don't; there's a good number of your kind up there." She took a step toward him and seized the front of his jacket with her grubby little hands, twisting the fabric and forcing him against her. "They could do without either of us for a moment, ey? Knowing you, we'll be done before they've even caught on you're running late."

Montparnasse took both of Éponine's wrists in his gloved hands and disentangled them from his new clothes, stepping away and holding her at an arm's length. "Listen, girl, I'm here to do this job," he insisted, but she grinned in that horrible gap-toothed way and ducked between his arms, knocking him against the wall of the Gorbeau building. He pushed at her shoulders again, but when the girl turned her head and nipped playfully at his exposed wrist he had to release her and avoid her filthy mouth. One of her rough little hands had begun plucking away at his cravat, pulling out the knot that Montparnasse had spent so long arranging earlier, and then she was fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. "All right!" cried Montparnasse, pushing her off for the last time. "Fine, we'll go somewhere!"

Practically purring, Éponine tucked her forehead into the hollow beneath his chin and whispered, "Why leave this spot?" into his cravat. Her wandering fingers began fiddling with his vest buttons.

"Because," said Montparnasse, sliding out from beneath the girl, "the others will pass here soon."

"And you're ashamed of me, is that it, lovely?" she asked, showing off her missing teeth in another freakish smile.

He did not answer, for he saw Babet approaching and seized Éponine by the upper arm. "Come on," he growled, jerking her along as he slid away to a narrower alley.

The moment the Gorbeau tenement had been eclipsed from their view Éponine slammed her own back against the alley wall and pulled him onto her. "C'mon then, love," she grunted, but Montparnasse yanked her away from the wall and continued to drag her along, keeping to the back alleys until the two of them reached his own little flat. The room was so tiny that the door practically opened onto the bed, which was clearly fine with Éponine, who fell onto the mattress and kicked the clean sheet away, clinging to both his hands until she dragged him down alongside her. "Come on," she said again, her words lit with a feverish expectation, and she threw a leg over Montparnasse, straddling his torso. She bent down, bringing her cracked lips to his ear, and whispered, "Let's go."

After Éponine left, Montparnasse found that he had no desire to return to the robbery. He lay on his back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, and reflected on the passionate little creature that had been there moments before, wishing all at once that she would return and that he would never see her again. He had considered hitting her, had tried it once, but she had just grinned at him, her teeth covered in the reddish haze of her own blood, and continued to run her filthy hands over his body. He hated her. He hated the way she pursued him, the way she clenched her glassy eyes shut when they were together, the way another man's name always worked its way in between her moans and gasps.

He found his discarded shirt with one hand, holding it above his face, and wrinkled his nose at the dirty streaks her pawing hands had left on the fabric.


End file.
